


a little death

by kyokyou



Category: ColdFlash - Fandom, The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M, One Shot, PWP without Porn, a bit of fluff i guess, idek where it came from, very explicit content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-12-01 01:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11475840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyokyou/pseuds/kyokyou
Summary: Barry gets bold and (sorts of) seduces Len. He straddles Len and tries to push his buttons but Barry also gets his own buttons pushed along the way.*“If you want me to stop, just say it.” Barry actually sounds innocent. But they both know he’s far from it. He rolls his hips again and starts grinding, chasing that familiar heat in his groin that pools.“Stop,” Len says, voice all breathy and low andweak.It’s cute Barry thinks, how Len thinks he means it.





	a little death

**Author's Note:**

> holy shit. so all i wanted was a quick coldflash pwp because i suddenly had this scenario in my head where barry's taunting len and he straddles him. this was initially supposedly a snippet of scene from another coldflash fic idea i had in mind. but well shit happened and yeah. also i wrote like the last 3-4k words in one shot till 7am (lmao) so pardon me if i make any mistakes (will edit later). this is my first coldflash fic and it's pwp (!!!claps) lmao. hope y'all enjoy reading it!! x
> 
> title from the nbhd - a little death

“Why, does it make you _uncomfortable?”_ Barry’s voice dips to a breathy low.

His green orbs grow a shade darker and there’s taunt in his eyes. He also eliminates all sorts of personal space between them and Snart stares at Barry, gaze all piercing, brows in a hard arch. Yet he doesn’t move away, doesn’t _recoil_ and he also doesn’t speak. Barry takes Snart’s response or lack thereof and shifts in even closer, as if they weren’t already plastered at the hips, his face inches away from Snart’s neck, lips ghosting the sliver of skin exposed from his ridiculous parka he always seems to have on. It’s not even that cold in here, and they’re sitting right by the fireplace. He places a hand on Snart’s knee which warrants no response and only makes Barry dangerously more fervent, on his quest To Break Leonard Snart Apart. So he trails his hand up slowly on Snart’s thigh, fingers grazing slightly. Despite the denim, Barry knows Snart can still feel it, feel the slow burn of want, and when he reaches his inner thigh, he stops and grips tightly. Snart’s other hand resting on the arm of the couch twitches so ever slightly but the man remains motionless. Gone stiff even.

Barry wants to press a kiss on Snart’s neck, he wants to feel him shiver – he wants to be _why_ he shivers, but then Snart says something.

“For someone who can go awfully fast you sure like to take things slow,” he drawls. There’s no hint of taunt or sarcasm, just that lazy drag of tone Snart always likes to use. Barry only snorts. Is this his way of instilling control in this situation? To be indifferent? Barry doesn’t want nonchalance he wants stifled moans and ragged breaths, he wants Snart to lose control and shatter the wall he’s got high up to the skies – he wants to _wreck_ him _._ Funny, who would’ve thought Barry had it in him. Cold is doing all sorts of things to him (making him _feel_ all sorts of things), and it is no longer just a cat and mouse chase, no longer just the battle of wits and brains, no longer about trying to catch a mere thief (although there’s absolutely nothing mere about the man); it’s gotten personal.

Barry used to think it was a challenge (probably how Snart thinks), the thrill of the chase. Then it became less like a challenge and more like a game. He’s a criminal, but he’s not like the usual ones that Barry easily stops in five seconds, all brute force and no brains. Metas proved to be more challenging to defeat because obviously, _powers_ , but they still lack the wit and charm of Leonard Snart, who is only _human_. With an annoying weapon, granted, but toss to that just about anybody else and they’d slip up in the ice they fire.

And then there’s that whole moral code thing Snart has going on, which honestly as much Barry hates to admit he does find it commendable, or as commendable a criminal can be. It makes him such a complex and intriguing character, and Barry always had the knack of pulling apart complex things and stringing then back up but he’s still got nothing on Snart. Every time he thinks he’s halfway gotten him figured out Snart does something that completely throws Barry off the rack. And there were more times than Barry like to admit where Snart had the chance to kill him, or at least severely wound him, but he chose not to. Maybe he found Barry interesting too, found him challenging enough to keep alive but without his speed, Barry’s just a twenty-something in the forensics department. He’s just Barry Allen, forensic scientist, bright smiles and bright eyes and all awkward limbs. Maybe that’s why Barry’s so hellbent to break Snart apart (cause without his speed, who exactly _is_ Barry?)

Barry snaps up, a cool breeze cutting in the room and he’s kneeling beside Snart, one knee on the couch another propped on Snart’s thigh. That warrants some attention. He finally holds his gaze with Barry longer than just two seconds. Yet annoyingly Snart only spreads his legs further, hands stretching out and relaxes on the couch. He tilts his head back, eyelids half-lidded, and a small smirk plays on his lips. “That’s more like it.”

Barry should get mad; he should because Snart’s still playing by his rules, faking nonchalance, keeping his cool. But he doesn’t, because then Snart wins and Barry doesn’t sit well with losing (especially to Snart), and it’s like the game they play all over again but instead of blazing trails of cutting wind and glaciers that could ice someone in two, it’s the heat prickling their skin and wild eyes with want. The more cocky Snart gets, the more determined Barry gets. He’s all fire and set determination once he puts his mind to it. And right now, all Barry wants is to wipe the fucking smirk off his face.

So he hovers over Snart, presses his knee harder in Snart’s thigh as he straightens his back. At any other circumstance Barry would have been utterly embarrassed; he would look _anywhere_ but Snart’s piercing blue eyes. Yet right now, he stares unabashedly at him. Barry’d thought he’d needed the rush of alcohol to cloud his thoughts – _never_ would he have imagined he could actually do this stone cold sober.

Maybe he is drunk. Drunk on lust. Drunk on want. Drunk on the thoughts of Leonard Snart and how he’d look all wreck and torn, how his lips would taste, what sounds he’d make. It’s been on Barry’s mind for quite some time now, but he always pushed it aside, never dared entertain it. He always dismissed it that Snart’s just easy on the eyes, at first. After a couple run-ins and Barry huffs that well, maybe he is _kind of_ pretty. Much hassle and trouble caused from the criminal and his posse later and Barry admits in defeat that Captain Cold is just annoyingly attractive. And smart. _And_ challenging. They’re shit excuses but hey, it makes Barry sleep better at night.

He always wondered how Snart looks without the stupid parka on (does he have like 500 spare ones or—), wonder how toned his biceps might be, how broad his shoulders are. Then when he actually sees it for himself, one mundane Wednesday night at Saints & Sinners by sheer coincidence and luck (or the gods’ idea of a cruel joke), Barry knows he’s fucked. Because Snart not only doesn’t have the parka on he’s wearing proper decent clothes (who knew he had any), clad in tight jeans and a fitting shirt with a fucking leather jacket on. It hugged his chest nicely and sleeves wrapped around his arms neatly ( _yeah_ they’re well-toned). And when Snart turned around to face Barry he felt his breath get knocked out of his lungs because he wore a shirt with a vee neck line which displayed his collarbones like it’s a fucking free show. And then Barry just sped off like an absolute loser he is, even as much as he’d like to stay and ogle some more. But no. _No_ , that’s Leonard Snart; Captain Cold, leader of The Rogues, a highly intellectual criminal of Central City that has rob more banks and museums than Cisco’s notorious collection of comics. Not to mention the time when Snart so conveniently changed his mind and froze him to the damn floor and sabotaged the very plan Barry was desperately trying _not_ to get sabotaged. So _no_. Just no.

But once Barry just accepted the fact that well fuck, yes he found Leonard Snart insanely attractive and raised the finger to the skies (which only seemed to grin back mockingly), he embraced the fact and everything just became so easy. Too easy it’s almost painful, because it _did_ grow painful, because now Barry wants a taste (because fuck it—). It doesn’t help when The Rouges or just Cold with Heatwave or his sister are wreaking havoc and Flash gets distracted with how Snart’s ass looked when he bent down or how hot he was when he calmly delivered a threat. Doesn’t help when all Barry could think about was how close they were or how turned on he was when Cold pushed him to the wall and jammed the cold gun at his jaw (hello distractions, goodbye priorities). Doesn’t help when they converse in an environment other than shattered glass and wailing screams, with proper clothes on because someone’s asking the other for a favour and that’s _too close Snart_ —

Doesn’t help when Barry knows Snart actually wants him just as bad too.

So Barry loops his right leg over so that he’s _straddling_ Snart, and he really gives props to the man for looking as unfazed as he is even though Barry can feel him slowly cracking. Taunting green eyes don’t leave lazy blue ones and Barry closes in so achingly slow, and hovers at Snart’s neck, breathing heavily on him, taking in the scent of strawberries and musk. Snart has by now straightened himself a bit more, trying to peer down to look at Barry who ducks his head lower to his right and presses a kiss lightly. “ S’this much more better?” Barry asks but he doesn’t look up to see Snart’s reaction. He wants to feel it.

Snart doesn’t respond, but Barry feels the slight shift in movements, as if he’s angling his neck to give the younger wider access. Barry grins, _Snart_ _you slut._

He can go slow, he’s got all night and all the time in the world – there’s no rush. Barry’s more excited than impatient that makes him want to speed things up a notch, but he levels himself and remembers the game they’re playing, that they always seem to play regardless.

So Barry kisses Snart’s neck again, and then sucks on the skin gently, experimentally, remembering, _marking_. If Snart hates this so much he could have easily shove him off and blasted him with the cold gun he always seem to whip out of nowhere. But he just sits on the couch obediently and lets Barry mark him. Perhaps half the battle is already won.

Barry parts his lips and darts his tongue out, breathing heavily on purpose and licks a short stripe up the side of Snart’s neck. He thinks he hears a loud exhale but he’s not sure. He wants it louder. So Barry licks again, and sucks and nibbles. He’s not sure whether to be fascinated or annoyed at how smooth and soft Snart’s skin is. Barry trails wet kisses from the side down to the center and considered taking a swipe at Snart’s collarbone but then moves along up to his left and says again, “This better?”

He shamelessly lets his hands roam all over Snart, from his chest to the expanse of his stomach, and his waist, and sliding to his back. Barry wants to slip a hand under Snart’s shirt, so he does. He tries to ignore the hammering in his chest and focus on how Snart’s skin seem to prickle and how he takes a sharp inhale. “Hmm Snart?” Barry adds because he doesn’t reply. He either lost his tongue or he’s afraid of how he’ll sound when he speaks. Either way Barry’s pleased with that, although he’d still prefer some vocal input.

“Or,” Barry starts as he levels back up and looks at Snart, wills all the strength he has to not flinch under those intense blue eyes. “Do you like Len better?” Barry whispers at his ear and splays a hand on his chest. He looks over at the red and purple forming against fair skin and Barry feels his heart swell with pride.

“Barry,” Snart finally starts and his voice though steady is much lower than usual. Barry’s half disappointed he didn’t come up with some witty remark. It’s not a call of approval or a moan but more of a question that holds more depth and Barry’s too fucked to give a proper answer.

“Yeah?” He whispers, lips inches away from Snart’s ear and he presses kisses along his jaw. Barry feels him grit his teeth, and his heart skips a beat. _I want more Snart, give me more._ So Barry licks a long stripe down his neck again and sucks hard, hard enough he wants it to leave a dark bruise. He’s long nestled on Snart’s crotch, but he’s sitting higher up that Barry’s ass is on his cock. It’s too hot, and Barry’s waited long enough so he rolls his hips against Snart as he sucks on his neck. He’s got skin between his teeth as his rolls harder again, and again, and Barry’s breathing gets quicker because he feels the heat and he starts to chase it. Barry huffs and lets a breathy moan pour out of his mouth. He can feel Snart’s walls breaking and a twitch at his ass, so he moves lower so that he can rut his cock against Snart’s and the friction from his pants is both delicious and painful.

He feels Snart grinding back, albeit mildly but that’s okay, it only makes the chase more fun and the thrill more intense.

“Come on, _Len_ ,” Barry breathes hotly, lips against Len’s ear as he starts grinding faster, his blood running down south and it’s still not enough, but it feels fucking good.

Barry’s on full-fledged humping Len, another moan ready to spill from his lips (and he hasn’t even _kissed_ him yet—fuck) when he feels hands grabbing his arms. But they’re not to pin him down or fling him around; instead Len tries to make Barry _stop_.

“Barry, _Barry_.” Len breathes. Barry slows down and stops leaving marks on his neck and finally looks up. Len’s still trying to maintain as coherent as possible even though his eyes betray him. Damn it, his pupils are blown wide and he can drawl as much as he wants but his eyes are full of want. Len just looks at Barry blankly, and he’s waiting for a response but all Len does is just stare at Barry, lips parting. They lock gaze for a heated moment, trying to bore holes in each other’s skulls and oddly enough Barry knows what Len’s trying to say.

So he says it for him, while he pushes his chest closer and leans his forehead against Len’s, eyes staring at his plump pink lips.

“If you want me to stop, just say it.” Barry actually sounds innocent. But they both know he’s far from it. He rolls his hips again and starts grinding, chasing that familiar heat in his groin that pools.

“Stop,” Len says, voice all breathy and low and _weak_. It’s cute Barry thinks, how Len thinks he means it.

Barry’s full blown thrusting now, and he’s already let two moans spill from his lips he decides there’s really no use in staying quiet anymore. Len breathes raggedly and he makes a low noise at the back of his throat. Without warning Len jerks his hips up and Barry groans, satisfied that Len’s finally responsive. Len slide his hands down Barry’s back, grabs harshly at his waist with one hand and another down Barry’s jeans and gropes his ass. Barry would laugh if his logical thought process was working but all he can think about is the heat of Len’s hand on his ass and how desperate he clings onto his waist.

They still haven’t kissed yet, lips just hovering against each other, ragged hot breaths and stifled moans passing between each other. Len starts taking the lead and thrusts harder, and Barry’s getting wet with precum leaking and his cock is throbbing in his pants. They breathe and moan into each other and Len starts clawing along Barry’s back.

“Fuck,” Barry groans and he starts shedding his sweater off, forehead still pressed against Len. He roams his hands around Len and realizes he’s still got his stupid parka on so he gets rid that off for him (in a flash), not really sure if Len actually notices because he lets out a strangled noise and Barry could just lose it, like this, heat in his stomach pooling. Barry could go ahead and remove Len’s shirt too but he’s suddenly obsessed on wanting to see him do it so he tells him to _get it off._ They break apart and Barry leans back while Lens throws his shirt over his head. They slow down the pace and eventually come to a halt, after a lock of their gazes and promptly rip their jeans off.

Before Len removes his boxers Barry grabs his hand and Len stills, as the younger goes down on his knees between the older. Len lets out a laugh mixed between defeat and desperation, because this is ridiculous and wrong on so many levels (but the worst things always seem to feel so damn good) and Barry knows Len’s armour of security is halfway out the window. He fits his fingers with Len and clasps it, pulling it away from his boxers while he reaches out with his left hand and runs it over the length of Len’s cock. It bulges obnoxiously against the cotton fabric and seeing Len hard makes Barry even harder.

Barry spreads Len’s legs wider and the older complies, head lolled back on the couch, his left hand still in a loose grasp with Barry’s over the arm of the couch. As Barry grips Len’s cock, his hand in Barry’s twitches, and when Barry thumbs teasingly at the head, Len tightens, clutching Barry’s hand.

Barry dips low, lips hovering above the throbbing cock and breathes against it hard. He feels Len shivers but he’s not sure. It starting to smell like sex and sin, and Barry holds his cock and inches his mouth closer, and licks a stripe up. He can taste Len through the material and on it, which is already wet from precum. Barry gives quick licks on the head and Len gives in, lets a moan out and curses, “Fuck Barry.”

He tries to tear his hand away from Barry’s grasp only to have the latter cling on tighter, so Len looks down and uses his other free hand to hastily pry his cock out of Barry’s hand and his boxers, gives it a good stroke then pushes it against Barry’s face, nudging at his lips. Barry’s staring between the flushed and swollen cock in his face and Len’s wrecked expression – heavy lids and parted lips. His eyes look black, blue glimmer gone, and Barry’s not sure which sight he should devour and decides he’ll take both. When Barry wraps his lips around the head, tongue swirling at the tip, Len digs his fingers hard in Barry’s palm and throws his head back.

Barry hollows his cheeks and pushes Len in his mouth slowly, hoping the heat of his mouth is burning him like how Len slowly unravelling at Barry’s touch is burning _him_. He bops at a slow pace, pushing his cock in his mouth and down his throat (Len seethes at that), then bops back up and hums, keeping his cheeks as hollowed as possible and pulls it out with a loud pop. And then Len says something that makes Barry completely loses it.

“Barry, _please_.” Len groans, slightly out of breath. He’s still got his head back against the couch and Barry stills, blood pounding in his ears and rushing in his veins like fire. Len begging? Fuck.

Len peers down because Barry remains motionless and swallows when he fixes his gaze on Barry. He gets it then, why Barry’s reacting this way and for once they stop playing the game because Len doesn’t try to pretend and or hide how riled up he is and gives it all up, while Barry takes and takes, milks it harder.

“Barry,” Len starts again, breathing controlled and voice louder.

“Please Barry, stop teasing me.” He lets it trail off to a broken sigh and cards his fingers through Barry’s hair and that was all that Barry could take really. His cock is aching and getting heavier and it feels like he’s about to burst so he complies and stops fucking around and takes Len’s cock back in that pretty mouth of his and sucks.

Barry licks and sucks as he bops up and down, hand pumping and he grows faster, and Len’s got a hand tight on Barry’s neck now—

Len rips their grasp apart as he throws his body forward; jerking his hips as he does and Barry chokes a little on Len’s cock. Len tenses but relaxes when Barry thumbs his thigh to let him know he’s fine. While he cups Len’s balls and squeezes a little he feels a warm heat against his cock, and realizes that Len’s fisting him, fast hard strokes and Barry splutters.

He can feel the heat pooling at his groin once more, his skin feels like fire and his mental capacity depleting. His heart is slamming against his chest and then he’s starting to vibrate, fuck, so he tears himself away from Len, standing near to the fireplace and Len looking confused as ever, almost toppling over.

“Sorry, reflexes.” Barry says sheepishly and all his built bravado washes away just like that and Barry wants to burn himself to the ground. He was so riled up trying to break Len he momentarily forgot about what happens when _he_ gets too excited. But Len only smiles fondly, and Barry’s honestly not used to seeing Len display any form of expression other than smirking. Because he doesn’t like how his heart reacts to it, and he keeps chanting in his head that this is _just a game_ , just a game, just a challenge, a personal challenge, blowing off some steam and having some fun.

Barry’s still standing there wrapped up in his thoughts until Len clears his throat, “Are you going to stand there all night?” he still has a small grin on his lips.

“Or you can make yourself useful and get the lube and condom since you’re already up,” Len lets his grin grow into a smirk as he leans back, and yeah, Barry thinks, _yeah this I can work with._ Len all smirking and haughty – that is Barry’s drive. So he speeds off to a room and searches for said articles, had to go through three drawers to find it, then back right on top of Len just as his back hits the couch.

Yet being in close proximity with Len, Barry towering over, faces inches apart, cocks pressed against each other with Len’s hands on Barry’s waist—it melts whatever streak of boldness he had left and mustered. This feels intimately close, and Barry’s not used to it. It shows too, in his voice, tripping on his words and going all soft.

“So, how d’you—how you do want it?” Barry asks. He feels his cheeks flush and slaps himself mentally. He was supposed to break Len apart, not have himself be broken apart.

Len doesn’t point that out (which Barry’s grateful for), but his grin does grow wider and there’s a glint off his eyes Barry doesn't ponder on. Len’s got his arms wrapped around Barry (not that his complaining), in a loose grasp and he rocks them both forward to adjust them in a better position. Len trails both hands down slowly, fingernails grazing lightly on his back, then down his loin, and Barry has to will all his mental capacity to _not_ shudder, but his blood’s rushing down south again, cock stirring.

He stops right at his butt and gropes tightly, then jerks Barry up and towards him. Barry hitches a breath, hands instinctively latched on Len’s waist and around his neck and grabs hold of him _even_ tighter (and any more they’ll be melding as one). Len spreads his legs wider and doing so Barry parts his legs too, then Len gently removes his hands and sit Barry right on his cock. It feels wet and slick and Barry can’t help but roll his hips slightly. Len gets a tight grip on Barry's hip and stills him, blue eyes staring back at green ones. Challenging. Len gives Barry a roguish smile and when Barry stills, Len starts rolling _his_ hips, grinding against Barry’s ass and he really wants to kill Snart until he says—

“I want you,” pauses. Fingers digging in at the hollow of Barry’s hipbone. Kisses. Len starts pressing soft kisses on Barry’s collarbone, on his sternum, then his neck. Barry throws his head back and moans softly while he starts grinding faster on Len’s cock. He feels fingers grip the back of his neck and he looks back at Len, who’s staring so intensely at Barry like he’s the only fucking thing he sees and Barry tries to stay afloat, tries hard not to drown in those eyes.

“To ride me.” Len rasps. Their faces are inches apart, lips ghosting against each other and Barry can feel Len’s breath against his. Fuck, is this man trying to kill him? For someone who likes the cold so much he sure knows how to fire someone up. Barry would share the joke if he wasn’t rutting against Len’s cock mindless. “Fuck,” Barry breathes.

“Yeah?” Len hums. Barry grounds his ass against Len’s cock hard in response and Len thrusts back, fingernails pressing hard against his hip that Barry knows is going to leave little deep crescent marks. He was glad he got horny in the middle of the night yesterday and played with his butt plug because Barry’s growing really impatient and he just wants Len right now. As Len slides the condom on his cock and slicks it with up with lube, Barry grows desperate with want and sucks Len’s neck. He kisses and licks, rubbing his aching cock hastily against Len’s stomach by now, half-panting. Len spreads Barry’s ass and it feels cold at his entrance so he tugs a bit harder against skin on Len’s collarbone.

“Good?” Len asks immediately.

“Yeah, good Len. Fucking awesome. I want you now. I’m good.” Barry says quickly, hands cupping Len’s jaw.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Len says.

“No you won’t; I’m good. Fuck, Len,” Barry heaves. Len still slides his index up Barry’s entrance slowly and doesn’t stop until he hits a spot that makes Barry teeth his collarbone and presses his face in the crook of his neck.

“More Len, come on.” Barry groans. He can slap himself after this at how needy he’s going to sound but it feels so good right now but it’s not enough and he needs _more_.

“I want you inside me, Len, please.” Barry says, albeit muffled, face still pressed against his neck. There’s a cool breeze and Barry feels hollow as Len slides his finger out but before he can fully process, his brain short-circuits again when he feels the head of Len’s cock nudging at his entrance. Barry about loses it, feels his heart at his throat and Len raps out a breathy, “Yeah?”

“Len!” Barry whimpers. And then feels his hole stretching as Len slides his cock up and the two seconds of pain gets forgotten when the pleasure comes in when Len hits a spot. Barry grits his teeth, exhaling heavily. He sits back up and sees the bruises littered along Len’s neck and collarbones, as if another tattoo on his body, sees the way Len is, head thrown back, eyes screw shut, lips parting and a moan spilling from his lips. Fuck, Barry wants to ingrain this moment in his mind forever (or at least long enough as future wank material).

Barry splays a hand across Len’s chest and rides on Len’s cock, fast and hard, feeling that coil in his groin, chasing the heat and Barry tips his head back. The sound of skin against skin gets louder, Barry grows louder too, moaning obnoxiously by now, and Len groans out a litany of profanities. Barry’s clawing at Len’s chest, grounding his ass as low as he can, taking as much of Len as he can, and he feels Len’s nails digging in his back then a slap on his ass. Barry bounces harder, and Len bucks up, smacking and groping his ass and Barry can feel it, he's so fucking close—

“God, Barry, fuck,” Len growls, and Barry almost chokes because he doesn’t know how he’s going to come back from this, especially not after knowing the sounds Len make.

“ _Shit_ ,” Barry whimpers because the heat’s pooling at his groin and he feels like he’s about to explode and it feels too damn good for Barry to lose it just yet so he slides back down Len's cock much slower this time, and Len immediately paces his thrust with Barry’s.

Barry lolls his head back and looks at Len, all hot and sweaty, and he looks absolutely fucked and debauched. He also looks open and raw, and there’s a tug at Barry’s heart that itches him. Len throws his arm over his face, covering his eyes and thrusts back slowly, lazily even, and Barry wants to kiss him badly right now. He swallows, unsure, and lets his mind get distracted with the tattoos on his skin, some covering his chest, some on his hip, some running along both arms. Barry realizes the tattoos cover most of Len’s scars. Some are faint and small, some long and gnarly, and one striking in particular along his abdomen Barry’s wondering why he hasn’t notice until now.

He slides his hand down and touches, feeling the bump of healed skin along his index and that snaps Len up almost immediately. He looks alarmed and defensive, eyebrows start to mar in a harsh arch. Barry doesn’t say anything, just looks at Len, finger still brushing against the scar and then he leans down and presses a soft kiss. When he straightens himself he’s greeted with a look Len wears that Barry can’t decipher while Len’s gaze continues to perforate Barry. The next moment Len’s grabbing Barry by the neck and pulling him in and crashes their lips together.

The kiss is messy and rough at first, desperation and want seeping through their skin and there’s more teeth than it should be but Barry loses his mind and kisses Len back senseless. He tastes like strawberry and mint, and his lips are the softest thing ever. Barry licks into Len’s mouth, and he starts riding his cock hard and fast again. Moans start spluttering out from their mouths once more and Len rams his cock in hastily, and Barry can feel Len getting close.

Barry swivels his hips and that makes Len growl, so he does it again because he doesn’t want to be the only one losing his mind. Len’s lips find his and slots them together and they push and pull. Barry bites and nips and sucks on Len’s lower lip, has one hand around his neck and another at the back of his head and Barry slide his legs behind Len’s back and wrap it around his waist. The slight change in angle makes Len thrust in Barry deeper and his voice cracks at the second moan because _right there Len, fuck, don’t fucking stop_.

Len fists his hand in Barry’s hair and he raps out, “I’m so close Barry.”

Barry can only bite Len's lip in response, zero mental capacity left to even mutter out a response. Len kisses Barry senseless, and breaks it to utter a word, then goes back kissing him. “Come with me Barry,” Len breathes.

“Come—”

And Barry snaps, feeling the coil in his groin burst and hips buckle and feels Len coming apart underneath him, jerking uncontrollably. Barry lets out a loud cry and his vision blurs a bit from the intensity of the pleasure and then collects himself as he comes down. His legs are still wrapped around Len and they’re still pressed flushed against each other, and their foreheads against each other. Barry’s breathing evens out, and so does Len but they stay in their position for a bit, before Len nudges softly at Barry and might probably even carry him off if he responded a fraction later. Before he slips into his post orgasmic high Barry gets off Len, and uses the last ounce of energy he has and helps clean them both up and brings them to the bed. He slumps on the bed, pulling the blanket over (he didn’t dress them though because that’s too much work—) and lets Len get confused and adapt to his surroundings for a minute.

When Barry started this, he obviously didn’t think it through because he thought he could just speed away once his done (he didn’t actually give much thoughts about what happens after), but he’s tired as fuck right now and cuddling doesn’t sound like a bad idea, but he won’t cuddle if Len doesn’t (it's okay). He can deal with the aftermath later when he wakes up.

Barry's sprawled on the bed with his stomach faced down and his head facing the curtains, away from Len because he’s not sure what protocol is after an insane sex session with your supposed enemy. That you’ve been crazy attracted to and lusting over for weeks.

“Didn’t know you were one for pillow talk,” there’s that lazy drawl again. Barry half-snorts, but there’s a fond smile on his face.

“Actually, didn’t know you were one for _that_. Whatever that was. Always full of surprises Scarlet,” Len says.

Barry turns to face Len, “Is this your version of pillow talk? Cause I finally found one thing you’re bad at.” The moment it slips out of his mouth, Barry promptly regrets ita and cringes inwardly. Len props a hand below his head as he rolls over, wearing the haughtiest smirk ever.

“I haven’t even started, Barry.” And honestly Barry’s surprised himself that they’re engaging in a conversation as if everything’s normal, as if they’re a couple, as if—

“Then I’m sorry you’ll have to entertain yourself if you were to start,” Barry tries to be snarky but he gets interrupted rudely with a yawn. He hasn’t got a refractory period so technically he can go on literally again (and he has before, _five_ times once), but he just really wants to sleep right now. Len doesn’t reply but Barry sees him grin before he turns and lies on his back.  Everything feels so soft and warm. So does Len’s chest. And to keep his day running and celebratory of Probable Regrets and Poor Decision Making, Barry throws all fucks away and turns so he’s facing Len proper, and scoots over, throws a hand over Len’s chest and buries his head in Len’s neck. Len doesn’t flinch nor recoils, just eases his shoulder so Barry can rest his head better and well, This is nice.

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> so just a fun fact, the little death - la petite mort (french), is an expression which means "brief loss or weakening of consciousness" and in modern usage there's reference to how "the sensation of orgasm as likened to death" hence...the title of the song. i used it for the fic because it seemed fitting. it's also my first pwp, like one with absolute zero context (i dont even know how they ended up in the same room hahahah - ok i do have an idea but still-) and can't believe i even choked out near 6k worth of words. Again, thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it!! x


End file.
